Them'uns

Something happened in Paris a decade ago. I don't know what it was, but it was significant enough for Our Brewery to name a beer after it. Ten Years Since Paris is a Rotbier, which I confess isn't a favourite style of mine, though I remind myself that this brewery doesn't always brew according to a homebrewer's level of tight fidelity to style, which is good. This one is clear, looking polished, not rustic. It's a bright copper shade, and little is given away by the aroma. The flavour is more full-on, and quite sweet, with notes of red cherry and Norn Irish favourite, brown lemonade. The finish is funky and earthy, a stark contrast with the sweetness, fully on-spec for Rotbier, and one of the reasons I dislike it. The mix of caramel and mushrooms does not sit well with me. It does seem like an accurate rendering of Nuremberg's flagship style of red lager, however, so if you actually enjoy them (not just the charming Franconian taverns that serve them) you'll likely enjoy this.

At the same strength of 5.2% ABV is All This Is That, an American-style wheat beer. "A sunshine beer built for hop lovers" says the can, which sounded lovely on a blustery March day. It certainly looks sunny: a bright and wholesome yellow with a light misting of haze. The aroma is sweet and lemony, like drizzle cake or meringue pie. That gets somewhat concentrated in the flavour, starting with an almost cloying perfume blend, exuding lavender and rosewater in quantity, plus some bonus pineapple. A pithy bite arrives later and goes some way to offset the floral excesses, and the quick clean finish helps too. The wheat pulls its weight by supplying a pillow-soft body with a dense shaving-foam head. At the outset, I had thought this was going to be a bigger, more characterful affair. In the end, it turned out to be subtle, but still bright and cheery, and definitely full of sunshine.

The inevitable hazy IPA follows, although Yes It Is is barely hazy at all: a bright and shining polished gold colour. That's topped with plenty of fine foam; too much for my undersized branded glass. There's a strong tropical buzz from the aroma, resolving into a very pure and sweet pineapple juice flavour. Not much else happens, however. 6.3% ABV makes it quite a sticky and viscous affair, though that merely serves to turn the initial kick of pineapple juice into pineapple candy by the end. It still manages to finish cleanly, the busy carbonation giving it an almost lager-like crispness with little by way of aftertaste. No undesirable gritty or garlicky haze attributes are present, but that's because there's no haze neither. This is a passable tropical style IPA: easy and straightforward, with no particular complexity. I can see haze enthusiasts being upset by its clarity, while the dominant sweetness means it's far from suited to the west coast purists. Being of neither tribe, I enjoyed it in a noncommittal way, and was bemused by the irony of its name.

A double IPA to finish, named A Hymn We Used To Believe. It looks nicely west-coast, clear and amber, pouring a little viscous, without much head. The only thing that doesn't say proper old-style American double IPA is the measly 7.9% ABV. It smells fresh and zesty, of lime oil and spicy pine resin. I was right about the texture: it's almost syrupy thick, with only the faintest of sparkle, and I think there's enough warmth for it to pass as a couple of percentage points stronger. The flavour isn't as intense as the aroma suggested it might be, but there's plenty going on. It is primarily bitter, in the proper west-coast way. Hop classics Simcoe, Cascade and Columbus are bringing their earthy and resinous spike. Modern fruity hops Idaho 7, Nectaron and Krush are also billed, but while there's a certain faint tropicality to the aroma, I don't get their contribution to the taste. Regardless, it's quite enjoyable, and does a good job of conjuring the American IPAs of the olden days (2010). This is a pleasant note on which to conclude.

The brewery may not be hung up on style accuracy, but it does show a homebrewer's fondness for variety and quality. Even when they do commonplace styles like haze and DIPA, there's a creative flair which the breweries who make more of them don't always show. This small operation in a Northern Irish backwater punches above its weight.